


Two Left...Something

by J (j_writes)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5 Things, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times Clint Barton definitely didn't get flustered, or awkward, or off his game at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Left...Something

Her reputation preceded her. His didn't. He wasn't sure which one of them this looked better for.

"Agent Romanoff," he greeted her without looking up.

"I don’t need a partner," she said by way of reply.

He watched her shoes come to a stop in front of him and didn't check her out – didn't need to, he'd seen enough out of the corner of his eye while carefully not examining her as she crossed the room – but he glanced upwards. "Maybe I do." He raised his eyebrows and didn't quite smirk.

She took the seat next to him on the bench, leaning back against the wall and stretching out her legs. "Then you shouldn't be going into the field yet," she said flatly.

He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.  
______________

"Barton." Even half-asleep and muffled in a pillow, there was a note of command to her voice that made him stop dead in his tracks, halfway across the cabin. "Stop pacing, or I'm going to break whatever bones are left intact in your body."

"There are six and a half paces from one wall to the other," he told her. "The half keeps throwing me off."

She made a low frustrated noise and sat up, the thin blanket sliding down from her shoulders. "Take smaller paces, then," she told him. "Or better yet, get over here and get some sleep, like you were ordered to."

He shook his head. "We're getting debriefed when we get back," he said. "I can't forget anything."

"When we get back," she reiterated. "Which is not going to be anytime soon. And since the captain has effectively locked us in here so we don't talk to anyone else on the ship," she waved a hand, then slumped back down, burrowing into the blanket and pressing herself back against the wall. "Just – stop, all right?" She sounded wearier than he'd ever heard her.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "All right."

It was cold in the cabin, once he stopped moving, and when she lifted the corner of the blanket once more, he didn't make her offer again. He settled down beside her, balancing carefully to keep from either falling off the edge of the bed or pressing his weight against her. She didn't seem to have any objections to it, though, settling in against his back and letting her arm drape over his side. He held himself still, barely daring to breathe, until he felt her breath warming the back of his neck with a laugh.

"You're unexpectedly bad at this," she said.

"You had expectations about how I was in bed?" he asked, grinning.

He could practically feel her roll her eyes. "You have a reputation."

"I do?" He grinned some more.

She sighed and pressed closer to his back. "If you weren't so warm, I'd push you out of bed."

He shifted a little, trying to let them both get more comfortable, and she made an annoyed sound. "You don't have any idea how to sleep with another person, do you?"

He frowned and let the silence stretch out a little too long as he searched for a clever answer. "No," he finally admitted. "I don't, really."

Her body went tighter, just for a second, and then she was exhaling, shaking her head and laughing quietly. "Shit, Barton." She wrapped herself more firmly around him, and he could feel her settling in, closing her eyes. "Like this," she said tiredly. He lay with his eyes open for a while, still and quiet, relaxing in increments. "'s okay," she mumbled a while later. "I've got your back."

He nodded against the pillow, and finally, slowly, drifted off into a light doze.  
______________

"You don't need to make it sound like I've never done a protection detail before," Clint objected.

" _They're_ the protection detail," Coulson replied, nodding towards the agents standing on either side of the door. "You're…" he hesitated. "Not," he finally decided on.

"I get that," Clint said, although he was still working on making it sink in. "But how scary can this guy be?"

Coulson looked at him impassively, then looked past him at Natasha.

"He really has no idea, does he?" she asked. "You did _tell_ him what was going on, didn't you, sir?"

"More or less," Coulson replied.

"It's the less that worries me," Clint pointed out, eyeing him.

Coulson shrugged. "Sometimes," he said to Natasha, "it takes a while for things to get through that skull of his."

"I'm standing _right here_."

The door in front of them opened, and the two guards snapped to attention. The man who peeked out was handsome but generic looking, taller than Clint, but not by much, and wearing flannel. "I thought I heard voices," he said, smiling at Coulson.

"Terrifying," Clint said under his breath to Natasha, and got an elbow to the ribs.

"Captain," Coulson greeted. "You remember Agent Romanoff." The man nodded at her. "This," he clapped a hand to Clint's shoulder and dug his fingers in just a little too hard, "is Agent Barton."

The man turned the smile on him, and reached to shake his hand. "Good to meet you," he said, "finally, after hearing about you from these two."

"You too, although I have to admit they've told me nothing at all about you," Clint said.

"Ah. Well." The man glanced at Coulson, and when Clint turned to look at him expectantly, Coulson met his gaze with a tiny smirk that Clint recognized as the equivalent of a shit-eating grin on anyone else.

"Barton, this is Captain Steve Rogers. He'll be leading the new initiative."

He never stopped trying to deny it every time Natasha would tell the story about how she practically had to break his fingers to get him to stop holding hands with Captain America, but eventually everyone just accepted it as fact anyway.  
______________

There was a tux in his bunk.

"Natasha?" he called into the hallway, and heard a muffled reply. "There is a tux. In my bunk."

He heard her before he saw her, shoes clicking their way across the hall, and when he turned, she was leaning against his doorframe, looking like she'd just walked off a movie set. "Oh, good," she said. "You're back. Tony's going to need backup tonight."

Clint winced. "At the…" he waved, encompassing her outfit.

"The gala, yes," she agreed, brushing by him and pulling the suit down, holding it up and sizing it with her eyes. "This should do just fine." She thrust it into his hands and bodily steered him into the bathroom. "Our ride will be here in – " she checked her watch. "Now, actually." She looked at him expectantly until he started undoing his pants.

"I'm an assassin, not an actor," he pointed out as he dressed, watching himself disappear beneath layers of clothes that cost more than a good handful of his weapons.

She shrugged. "You're an Avenger," she pointed out. "That implies both." She twirled a finger at him, and he obediently turned, letting her get a full look at him. "You'll do." She reached out to straighten his tie, then kept her fingers hooked there, using it to drag him towards the hallway. He flinched away and rubbed at his neck. "It's not like undercover work is anything new to you," she pointed out.

He made a face. "This isn't undercover. This is _small talk_. Couldn't you get – " he shrugged. " _Anyone_ else?"

She ticked them off on her fingers. "Tony's there already, Cap's in Miami with the director, Coulson has Bruce on the Central Park situation, and that leaves…you. And Thor." She smiled, devious. "I could go ask him, if you'd rather. I'm sure he'd be quite skilled at this sort of thing."

Clint sighed as they stepped into the elevator. He adjusted his sleeves, looking at his reflection, and bounced lightly on his toes. Natasha caught his eyes, and tilted her head, her smile getting wider. "Are you…" she turned to look at him. "You're _nervous_."

"I'm not," he said, indignant.

She laughed. "All the things I've seen you do, the missions neither one of us should have ever survived, and it's _this_ that gets to you."

"Nothing's – " he began, but she cut him off, backing up a little and framing her hands in front of her, pretending to take his picture.

"Smile, Agent Barton," she said. "It's time for your close up."

"I've never liked you," he told her.

She took his arm as the elevator doors opened. "Likewise," she said brightly.

"Next time, you get Thor."  
_______________

"Tony bought you a very nice bed, you know."

Clint's eyes blinked open, his hand going for his knife, before he registered where he was, and relaxed. He couldn't see the sky in the darkness, but he could hear the trees waving above them, and when he tilted his head to the side, he could dimly see the outline of Natasha, curled up against the bars of her own balcony, lit by the lamplight coming from her bedroom.

"Hmmgh," he replied intelligently, letting his head drop back down onto the balcony floor. "I like it better out here," he finally managed to string together, and felt unreasonably proud of himself.

"I know." She was quiet for a while, and he turned again to watch her tilt her head back, looking at the sky. "JARVIS is worried."

Clint laughed. "What?"

She shrugged, smiling up at nothing. "'If there is any manner in which I can be of assistance to Mr. Barton…'" she mimicked. "He's completely baffled by having someone living in his house that he can't seem to do anything for."

"He's a robot," Clint said. "Robots don't get baffled."

"Neither do SHIELD agents," Natasha replied. She eyed him through the bars of the railing. "You good?"

"I'm good."

"Tony said – "

"Tony's full of shit," Clint said sharply.

She raised her eyebrows. "Always," she agreed easily.

He sighed and tossed an arm over his face. "It's fine," he said. "I just…I suggested maybe I move back to base. He wasn't entirely receptive to the idea." He flinched. "Neither was Cap."

"You quitting on us?" The question was deceptively mild, but he tensed anyway, propping himself up to look at her.

"Not today," he said.

She looked at him steadily. "Tomorrow?" she asked. 

"Not then, either."

She nodded. "Good enough for me." 

He closed his eyes and pillowed his face against his arm, feeling the cool concrete below him. They were quiet for a long while, and then he heard her unfold herself, standing and stretching. He peeked, watching her settle her clothes around herself, then lean against the railing, towards him. "I'm going to…" she waved at her room.

He nodded. "Night," he replied, not lifting his head.

She paused in the doorway, backlit. "It's not so different, you know," she pointed out. "From base, I mean. It's still just a room, your guys around you."

"Yeah," he agreed. 

"And here, you've got a balcony."

"Going up in the world," he agreed. He let his mouth twist into a smile.

"Go to sleep, Barton," she told him, and disappeared into her room. A few minutes later, her window opened, and a pillow flew a perfect arc to land right in front of his face. He burst out laughing, then rolled over to take advantage of it, watching the shapes of the trees changing overhead, until he closed his eyes and they changed into something else entirely.


End file.
